


In Which Jaskier Discovers Some Berries, and that Full Pots are Heavy (in That Order)

by Elle_dubs (avril_o), Hangebokhan



Series: Jaskier: Dealing With Dragons [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Friendship, Gen, Geralt's a dick, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier's mildly traumatized, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 45-60 Minutes, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avril_o/pseuds/Elle_dubs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangebokhan/pseuds/Hangebokhan
Summary: After Geralt is a dick, Jaskier decides to get the story of the EPIC FIGHT from Borch, Tea and Vea. In return, he cleans the cave area with them, entertains in the evening, and provides musical accompaniment at the funeral. He discovers berries, pots are heavy, and that he could have a new legacy if he really wants.
Relationships: Borch Three Jackdaws | Villentretenmerth & Jaskier | Dandelion, Borch Three Jackdaws | Villentretenmerth & Téa, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Téa, Jaskier | Dandelion & Véa
Series: Jaskier: Dealing With Dragons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893139
Comments: 22
Kudos: 107
Collections: Pod_Together 2020





	In Which Jaskier Discovers Some Berries, and that Full Pots are Heavy (in That Order)

Podfic can be found [here](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2020/%5BWitcher%5D%20Jaskier%20Discovers%20Berries.mp3)!

Or, listen here:

"Right then," Jaskier said, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. "I'll go get the rest of the story from the others then." He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. He was not going to cry. He was a grown man. "I'll see you around, Geralt."

He turned abruptly on his heel and hurried down the trail. He kept moving forward blindly. Was this the end of his association with Geralt? He'd thought they would -- well, but he thought they were friends. He was wrong, obviously. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Well done, Jaskier, running another perfectly good companion out of his life.

He stopped around the corner where no one could see him and crouched down, taking a few deep shuddering breaths, hands on his knees. The first thing to do, he decided, was get off the mountain. Second, get excessively drunk. Everything else could wait until after that. Decided, Jaskier squared his shoulders and continued.

The dwarves were gathered at the campsite from the previous night, but Jaskier didn't want to deal with dwarves. His eyes darted around the clearing and spotted Borch, Tea, and Vea, packing up their lean-to and bedrolls.

"Borch!" he yelled, waving his arm wildly over his head. Borch paused and looked back at Jaskier. Jaskier slid and hopped over some rocks, moving perhaps slightly faster than he would have been comfortable.

"Borch!" he said again, panting a little. "If I didn’t say before, -- so glad you aren't dead!"

Borch grinned. "Me too, kid."

"Do you mind if I make my way down the mountain with you folks? I won't pretend it's to offer you my protection, just my company and entertainment, but it's a perilous journey, and a humble bard has no chance alone in this wild," Jaskier said, ducking his head a little and squinting at them.

Borch gave Jaskier a look. “That won’t be for a while, kid, we can’t move the egg,” Borch said, then clapped him on the back. 

“Oh, excuse me!” Jaskier said, hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know I’m a full grown man of at least … twenty four!”

This declaration was met with blank stares.

“Would you believe twenty six? I’m not willing to go any higher than twenty nine, my skin care routine is fantastic and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Borch shook his head amused, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Jaskier said, thinking rapidly. “Can I stick around for a day or so, get the real story of the dragon hunt before I head out?”

Borch looked at Tea and Vea. They merely raised their eyebrows at him and looked back. Borch turned to Jaskier, who was doing his best sad eyes, and sighed. "Sure," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Let's add another to the party."

"Excellent!" Jaskier exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I have so many questions about, well, everything. Could you start with the weather conditions for the fight? As many details as you please, no matter how superfluous. A bard needs as much information as he can get to compose with, you see, and the Witcher," Jaskier's breath stuttered, and he forced himself to continue with a smile, "... well, he's always been a bit sparse on the specifics."

Borch turned away, Tea and Vea in his wake, but not before Jaskier saw the pity in his expression. Jaskier scrubbed a hand over his face, then hiked his lute case up a little higher on his shoulder and bounded after them. "But I'm sure brilliant people such as yourselves have amazing memories full of descriptions and metaphors.” Jaskier paused. “Hang on a bit, let’s start with, how did you survive the devastating and terrifying fall of doom to your death?" 

Borch showed his teeth in a facsimile of a smile at Jaskier. “Well, I’m not just ‘people’. I’m a dragon, and that’s my egg up there.”

Jaskier blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”

Borch looked at him, side-eyed. “You have heard of them, bard? Scaly? They fly? Drr - aa - gonnn,” he said, loudly over-annunciating.

Jaskier boggled at Borch. No point in arguing with the man --- excuse me, dragon -- he seemed pretty sure, and Vea and Tea weren’t arguing, and who was he to judge? But ... “But surely, the egg belonged to the green dragon there …?” he asked.

Vea glared at him. “It takes two to make a baby,” she hissed.

Jaskier felt his stomach drop. “Oh, no,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Borch.”

Borch hummed. “Thank you. It was a practical match, but it is still a loss for my child, and for me.”

They made the trek to the summit silently from that point.

Jaskier started a fire while Tea patrolled the woods to make sure it was safe, and Vea set up the lean-to for Borch. He collapsed in a pile of limbs on a rock nearby, took out his lute and started strumming absently, humming along occasionally.

_“It’s always lose … she’s just bad news”_

He couldn’t believe this was the end of his travels with Geralt. After all they had been through together, he genuinely thought they were friends. Best friends. Geralt was certainly his best friend. 

_“ … better stay out of sight”_

Well. He had been. Jaskier supposed that being spectacularly told off in the fashion he was probably should take Geralt out of the running for best friend. As it was, he didn’t have a lot of options. Eist? Valdo Marx? He threw up in his mind, a little bit.

_“I welcome my sent- no, If this is my sentence, I welcome … my … penance.”_

Tea returned with a couple rabbits and silently sat down to clean them. Borch threw Jaskier glances across the campfire, then abruptly clapped his hands together.. “All right bard. Let’s have some entertaining then. Not whatever that maudlin song is you’re whispering over there.”

Jaskier flushed and ducked his head. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was out loud,” he mumbled, then straightened and jumped up. “Yes! I know some very entertaining entertainment.” With that, he launched into ‘the Fishmonger’s Daughter’. As he sang, Vea took the cleaned rabbits from Tea and cooked them on a spit. Jaskier eyed them wistfully, then started ‘The Stars Above the Path’. When that was finished, he looked to his companions. “Any requests, good sir, fair maidens?” he asked, bowing with a flourish. “This humble bard is at your service.” He winked at Tea with a bravado he did not feel. She just stared back at him, unblinking.

“How about ‘Elusive’?” Borch asked. He was leaning back on his elbows lazily, not looking at Jaskier but instead at the fire.

Jaskier nodded once. “A fine choice!” he said, and he started the tune. It was one of his better ballads, if he did say so, and it was flattering that it had spread far enough that even these seasoned travelers knew it by name. 

The rabbits were done, and Vea began to split them up, passing portions first to Borch, then Tea. When Jaskier finished, she waved a hand at him. “Sit down,” she ordered. 

“Far be it for me to deny a lady,” he said, and he sat without delay. She handed him a portion of the rabbit, then returned to the other side of the fire and settled on Borch’s left side.

Jaskier gaped at the rabbit.

“You sang for your supper, bard. Surely it’s not the first time?” Borch said, amused.

Jaskier shook his head. “Oh no, of course not,” he said. “In inns all the time, I would sing for a room and for supper. But on the Path -- it took a while for Geralt -- well, I ate a lot of dry rations for a while there. Not good for digestion, I’ll tell you that much.” He looked up at them earnestly. “Thank you!” And he ate.

Tea, Vea, and Borch talked quietly among themselves as they finished their meals. Jaskier looked on out of the corner of his eye, wistfully. He used to talk with Geralt like that, over meals. Well. He used to talk at Geralt, at least. Geralt was witty, when he chose to be, but hoarded his words like a dragon did gold. Sometimes, all he would get was a “Get up, Jaskier!” in the morning, and grunts along the road until they stopped again for the night. Jaskier felt his eyes start to sting again. He blinked rapidly, then got up from the log.

“I’m to bed,” he announced. “See you in the morning.” 

Jaskier stepped away from the fire and spread out his bedroll, then laid on top of it. It took a long time to fall asleep, but the crackling of the fire and the murmuring voices kept him company until then.

Jaskier woke up to the bright sun in his eyes. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes hard. Geralt must have decided to let him sleep in. Jaskier yawned, stretched, and froze halfway through.

Geralt did not let him sleep in. Geralt was gone. He wasn’t traveling with Geralt anymore, maybe for good this time. He prodded the loss in his mind, like one would a missing tooth. Yes, it still hurt. Good to know.

With a sigh, he got up and went about starting his day. After finishing his ablutions, he noticed Tea and Borch were clearing out the cave. He looked around but didn’t see Vea anywhere. 

Borch noticed him looking. “Well hello, Jaskier! Good to see you looking so bright-eyed this early morning!” he said cheerfully. Tea snickered. It was midday.

Jaskier flapped a hand at them. “Yes, yes, have a fun laugh at my expense. I do feel remarkably well-rested.” He didn’t, he much preferred a comfy bed in an inn to his bedroll laid out on rock. “What are you up to, here?” He gestured vaguely, and he sauntered over.

Borch rubbed his hands together quickly, like he was trying to clean them. “We have to be here for a while, until the egg hatches. I thought I’d make us a bit more comfortable, and protected from the elements if it comes to it, and clear out the cave. We’re clearing the moveable rocks and small boulders, tree limbs, body parts, and whatnot. Then I’ll give her a proper farewell,” he waved a hand to indicate the green dragon, still wrapped protectively behind the egg.

Jaskier nodded a couple times. “Good, good.” He carefully put down his lute case, then followed Tea into the cave. They had gotten a good five to ten feet in clear, but there was a lot of cave left. He picked up the largest rock he thought he could pick up without straining his back, and began hauling it out of the cave.

Borch looked at him in surprise. “Many hands make light work!” Jaskier called to him. They had a large pile of rocks sitting next to the treeline, so Jaskier dropped the rock there and headed back in. After a few trips, he said, “Do you think we should have a stack of wood inside the cave, for kindling? To keep it dry, I mean.”

“That’s a good idea,” Borch said, smiling. He pointed to a spot next to the cave wall, near the entrance. “Why don’t you make that right over there?”

Jaskier bobbed his head agreeably, the hair not plastered to his forehead flopping around with the motion, and began picking up branches and dragging them to the wall. Never one to love silence, Jaskier began humming. When that wasn’t enough, he started recounting stories: maidens he’d seduced (masterfully, and completely made up in most cases), kings he’d played for, feasts he’d been at (most of those were true, Jaskier was in high demand as a bard with a noble background).

After a particularly bawdy tale, featuring a blacksmith’s daughter in Lyria and Jaskier climbing out a second floor window, pants in hand, which had Borch in stitches and Tea cracking a smile, at least, Vea returned. She had a buck slung over her shoulders. She looked very formidable, and Jaskier told her so.

She acknowledged him with a tilt of her head. “Traps are set,” she announced. “I’m going to dress the animal.”

Jaskier dropped another branch in front of the neat stack Tea had set up and wiped a palm across his sticky forehead. “I am in desperate need of water. I’m going to locate a nearby stream -- I’m fairly certain I heard it on the way back up -- and haul some water back.”

Borch nodded at a large pot over by the campsite. “Bring that with you, if you can,” he said.

Jaskier acceded and detoured over to the camp, throwing the pot over his shoulder. It was fairly light now, so he figured he’d be okay once it was full of water. He turned around and waved. “I’ll be back!”

“Watch out for Hirikkas, bard!” Tea yelled back, and Vea snorted a quick laugh before smoothing her expression back out.

“That was uncalled for!” Jaskier replied, eyebrows furrowed and pouting exaggeratedly. Then he pivoted and headed off into the woods, towards where he thought there was a small stream. He whistled absently while walking to keep himself entertained, part of the melody for “Toss A Coin”, until he realized what it was and stopped. “I will never be free of that song,” he muttered to himself. He paused and then determinedly started working on the same tune he had been composing last night.

[whistling]

He found a stream after a bit of walking, and decided he deserved a wash, so he quickly stripped down and doused himself with the water. Then he walked upstream and filled the pot and his water skins.

On the return trip he noted some berry bushes; the pot was getting rather heavy, so he made a mental tick and carried on to the camp at the summit. Maybe he would stop on his way down the mountain for some fresh berries.

Jaskier crested the mountain and saw the two warriors practicing their art. They were running at each other, tumbling out of reach. Vea released a mighty roundhouse that Tea dodged handily and returned with a backhand. Vea caught the hand and twisted. Tea fell with it and turned out of the grip, flipping over backwards and landing in a crouch. She bared her teeth in a grin, sweat dripping down her face. She looked like a fierce brown goddess. Jaskier was suddenly glad that neither warrior had taken offense to his flirting advances earlier in the trip. He had seen how strong they were, but until seeing this well-matched and well-practiced fight, he had had no idea whatsoever.

Borch was watching as well from the side. “Are you getting tired, Vea?” he heckled.

Vea glared at him over Tea’s shoulder, then charged at Tea, with a loud rough yell that scared Jaskier out of his skin. That was powerful, and while Tea was not scared, she was not quite set, unprepared for the shoulder to the center of her chest, and she hit the ground hard, knocking out her breath.

Vea dropped to the ground next to her on one knee. “Well fought, little sister,” she said with a slight quirk to her lips. Borch was clapping slowly in the background, but Jaskier kept his eyes on the dangerous ones, not the dragon.

Tea groaned. “You as well. That was a powerful charge.” Vea held out her arm and Tea grasped her wrist, and together they stood.

Jaskier continued his journey to the firepit and campsite, now that he was certain they weren’t going to break into a wrestling match. “Oh, are you two related?” Jaskier asked.

Tea looked at him flatly. “No,” she said, and then turned away, stalking to the woods.

Jaskier looked at Borch, hoping he would clear up the confusion. Chuckling, he said, “Vea is older and always wins the fights, and calls Tea little sister. One day Tea will come out on top, and call Vea little sister. I don’t know what will happen then.” He snorted. “Maybe she’ll start breathing fire.”

Jaskier nodded slowly and slowly put down the water pot. He straightened up and groaned at the pain in his back. “Oh! That might have been … too heavy,” he gasped, then sank onto a rock and slowly laid back on it. “You can just bury me here.”

Borch looked sorry. “I should have told you not to fill it all the way, I am sorry friend. There’s no way you can entertain tonight --”

Jaskier attempted to sit up and protest but his muscles disagreed.

Borch continued “-- so instead we shall have to entertain you! I know many stories.” His hazel eyes narrowed a bit and he looked at Jaskier a bit side eye. “Some stories that I know you have not yet heard in your travels, I daresay.”

Jaskier grumbled. “The show must go on, or something like that,” he said. He needed to earn his keep somehow, and his lute was the number one way. Vea overheard the argument and came over, long legs making short work of the distance.

“Borch is offering you untold stories, and you have the nerve to complain?” Vea shoved his arm, but carefully, so that he wasn’t jostled hard. “We will make you a poultice for the evening, and in the morning you will feel fine, so long as you rest now. So rest, so that I can put you to work tomorrow!”

Well, that seemed fair enough, so Jaskier agreed grumpily, and stayed leaned up against the rock. He watched Vea prepare the poultice and leaned forward far enough to slip it in against his back, groaning the whole time, then relaxed back again. Vea, and soon enough Tea, prepared a quick meal of leftover buck meat they had stored in the back of the cave. Tea made a hot drink, brewing some rose hips for a time and pouring the liquid carefully into cups and passed them out.

Everyone sipped their drink and gazed into the fire for a few quiet moments. Tea cleared her throat. “You know, you can read your future in the leaves left in the bottom of the cup,” she said conversationally.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t heard that!” he said excitedly, then frowned. “Well, I can tell you my future. Traveling the lonely wide road, playing my heart out, and moving on.” He glanced at the troubled faces staring at him and cleared his throat. “With plenty of lovely ladies, and lovely gents of course, along the way. I’m not planning on becoming a eunuch!” He forced a chuckle.

Tea rose quietly and crouched down at his side, perched easily on her heels. “Have you finished your tea?” she asked, and without waiting for an answer, she took the cup from Jaskier’s hands.

It was empty of the hot drink, and she gazed at the bottom of the cup for a minute. Jaskier stared at her, spellbound.

She looked up and met his eyes steadily. “You will travel the road, but it will not be lonely. You will have companionship, and your heart will be kept safe while you perform with joy.” Then she glanced down and to the side, and then back up at him. “And you will take that doublet to get washed soon. You. Stink.” With that, she put down his cup, stood, and returned to her usual seat at Borch’s side.

Jaskier gaped at her. “Rude!” he said. “I will have you know that I took a lovely, brisk dip in the stream when I went to retrieve water.”

Tea grunted. “And you didn’t have your doublet on, so it didn’t get clean, and THEN you walked all the way back carrying a very heavy pot of water. You. Stink.”

Vea nodded in agreement. “It is true.”

Borch shrugged, holding his hands out as if offering a truce. “It’s a fact of the road! Everyone stinks!” He raised his eyebrows. “Even the fine Zerrikanian warriors have lacked bathing from time to time.”

Tea and Vea turned slightly away from him.

“Speaking of! This one time, we were walking through a deep, dark forest, and there was a trap set there -- a dead spot, where no magic could function. Without the magic, I can’t shape shift, and we were taken captive. They drugged us and forced us to march to a nearby city in Cintra, I think to sell us as slaves. Only the drugs wore off so much quicker on me than they expected, because they didn’t know I was a dragon, probably, and so when I shifted to dragon form I scared them to death.” His smile looked more … toothy, but that was probably just the light from the campfire, Jaskier supposed.

“So, did they run away?” Jaskier asked, itching for the satisfying conclusion of the tale.

Borch shook his head. “Noooooo,” he said slowly. “I scared them. To death.”

This smile was DEFINITELY more toothy. Jaskier was sure. Or maybe there was something in the tea?

“Anyway, Tea and Vea had to go for almost a week without their fanatical cleaning routine, and it was not a great smell in a large dragon nostril.” Borch waved a hand in front of his face.

Jaskier paused, then narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe a word of that.”

Vea groaned and looked up to the sky. “It is mostly true,” she said reluctantly. “And he could not leave survivors. Few have seen Borch in his true, majestic dragon form, and lived. We can’t have stories about him in the world.”

“In fact,” Borch said, picking up where Vea left off, “That’s how we get in most of our trouble. I can’t just shift into a dragon to solve every little problem while wandering the Continent. We have to improvise! Let me tell you about the rusulka. We were camped next to a small pond overnight, to indulge in a leisurely soak -- I could heat up the water a little with my fire breath, so long as no one was there, so it was a great comfort. We were traveling with Myrtle --”

“Myrtle?” Jaskier interrupted, holding up a finger for a pause.

Myrgtabrakke -- my departed mate -- at the time, and we woke up in the morning to a loud scream. Myrtle had been grabbed by a rusulka! I wasn’t worried about exposing my secret to another monster, but Vea had been out scouting and urged caution, saying that she had heard horses coming our way just before we heard the scream.” 

Borch paused there for a moment. “I think I’ll need some more tea to continue telling stories. Would you mind brewing another spot for me?”

Tea stood gracefully. “Would you like more tea, Jaskier?” she asked, going through what looked like a well-practiced routine. 

“Oh yes please, I would love some more,” he exclaimed, and held his cup back out to her. She ignored him as she measured out the leaves and started the brewing process, but he just kept holding the cup out. She flicked her gaze at the cup and at his face, and then returned to paying absolute attention to the tea steeping. Jaskier’s arm started to ache, but he kept holding out there, a smile plastered on his face. She was going to break first. 

Jaskier’s arm started trembling, and then started slowly slanting down. His smile twisted, and then faded, and finally, just as he was about to sigh and give up, Tea stomped over and grabbed the cup. “I suppose you are injured right now, bard, but do not expect this treatment every day,” she said begrudgingly, and handed him his cup now full of steaming hot liquid.

He inhaled gratefully. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier said cheekily, tilting his head to the side.

Across the fire, Borch took a large slug of his tea and sighed happily. “So where was I?” he asked, looking at Jaskier.

“Oh, uh, Vea heard horses and Myrtle was screaming!” Jaskier supplied helpfully.

Borch snapped his fingers. “Yes! So I didn’t dare shift, the horses and the people who rode on them, were largely innocent in this tale, and I didn’t want to risk them seeing me. So Tea sprinted towards the screaming, and grabbed a large branch off the ground, and wailed the rusulka in the head with it!!” Borch stood and mimed the action, swinging his arms together like a club.

“Well, the rusulka didn’t know what to make of that, and in her confusion, she let go of Myrtle. Now Myrtle was a little unpredictable, and sometimes she would shift and then the rumors of dragons taking flight would start again, but she couldn’t resist the lure of the sky, that one,” he said fondly, gazing in the direction of the cave. “So I was worried she was going to blow our cover and maybe poison herself, trying to eat a rusulka, and then Vea dropped out of the tree above them, landing on the rusulka’s back, and jammed a silver dagger through her heart. Then for good measure, she removed the rusulka’s head.”

Vea looked up proudly at that, stabbing at the air once with the silver dagger _that was suddenly in her hand_ to punctuate the point.

“We hear the horse hooves slow and look up, and of course, there was a Witcher there. Not your Witcher,” Borch added quickly, “not even a school of wolf Witcher.” 

“He’s not MY anything,” Jaskier muttered but quieted quickly.

“But still, would’ve been helpful if he had been there five minutes earlier. He did not believe the sight in front of him, a woman perched on a headless rusulka’s back, holding her head up high by the hair.” Borch was laughing in earnest now, likely picturing the dumbstruck Witcher. Jaskier attempted to imagine the specific look of constipation that would cross Geralt’s stupid face at a sight like that, and snickered himself.

Borch started another story, about going fishing with fossegrim. It was funny, but Jaskier had finished his tea and was so tired, he felt his eyes shut on him more than once, and struggled to stay awake. When he finished the tale, “... and that’s why I always keep a spare set of chopsticks in my gear!” Jaskier had not really grasped the point of the story, but he applauded anyway, then yawned showily.

“Thank you for the tales, Borch, I will add them to my collection! Though I will of course, change a few things here and there, keeping your dragon secret, well, a secret. For now though, I think it is time for sleep.” He clumsily stood, legs a little shaky. 

“Good night, Jaskier,” Borch said. He lowered his voice and spoke only to Tea and Vea. Jaskier found the whispers comforting, and when he hit his bedroll, he was wrapped up and asleep in moments.

The morning dawned bright, and unlike the prior day, Jaskier knew exactly where he was on the continent. He knew he was probably starting to overstay his welcome, he was a little much for most, but he wanted to make sure that Borch, Tea and Vea were ready for the baby's hatching and had a sufficiently solemn funeral for the departed and fondly remembered green dragon.

He returned to the cave and looked around with a smile. They were really making progress; Jaskier thought they might have enough space to set up their bedrolls tonight with a roof over their heads. He noted a patch of rock that was fairly level and pointed at it. "Borch! Do you think this will work as a sleeping space over here? There seems to be enough room for your three pallets!"

Borch looked at the area that Jaskier was indicating, and nodded. "That seems like enough space for four pallets, even," he observed, coming to stand next to Jaskier.

Jaskier forced himself to laugh once. "Well, you won't need to squeeze that many in here anyway, I'll be on my way once we've properly seen to the cave," his voice sombered up, "and your darling baby's mother." He glanced at Myrtle, still curved around behind the egg.

"Ah, we'll see how that all goes," Borch replied, and patted Jaskier's shoulder. "Let's see how much more of the cave we can complete before we have supper. Vea went to get more water this morning, she has made the trip two or three times so far, so we'll have water to wash up and cook."

"Oh, how wonderful! Since you entertained me with stories last night, maybe I can entertain again tonight! We haven't even explored a quarter of my memory for music. I even know some lullabies!" Jaskier said, turning to start clearing branches and rocks, much further back than before.

He chattered all day, first about the lullabies his nursemaid had sung him, then about the first maid he had fallen in love with, and her brother the stableboy besides, breaking only for a long pull from his water skin and a few bites of rations that he had in his pack. In late afternoon he reeled himself in. Borch and Tea seemed amused by the constant noise, rather than annoyed, but then Borch was a very polite man, in Jaskier's estimation. He probably would feel bad telling Jaskier to shut up, unlike Geralt.

After a well of silence, he caught Borch and Tea exchanging glances. Yes, he had annoyed them, all right. He sighed inwardly and forced himself to stay quiet, thinking of words to add to the tune he was working out on his walk yesterday.

'The story is this -'

'it falls apart in her - no ...'

Vea cleared her throat loudly at the cave's main entrance and Jaskier's head shot up, startled. She was holding a brace of rabbits and birds of some kind. 

"Jaskier," she said, "Do you know how to skin rabbits or prepare a bird?"

Jaskier smiled widely. "Oh obviously, one can't travel with the White Wolf without pulling one's weight or one would be left behind at the campsite in the early morning with no horse tracks to lead one to town!" He walked over eagerly. "I prefer the skinning, to tell the truth, but I can help with either!"

Vea looked over Jaskier's shoulder at Borch, brows furrowed, but Jaskier couldn't see Borch's face to know what they were silently conversing about.

"Or both!" Jaskier exclaimed. Maybe Vea was angry that Jaskier hadn't volunteered to do both immediately. 

Vea shook her head in exasperation, her dark brown eyes flashing, and shoved the brace of rabbits into his chest. "You can do the rabbits. I will deal with the birds." She turned and stalked out of the cave.

Jaskier watched her leaving for a moment. "I'll be back once I finish this up!" he called to Borch, hiking the brace up into a firmer grasp. 

Borch waved a hand at him dismissively. "Take your time, we're almost done and we're not in any rush here." Borch's eyes narrowed. "You're starting to get flushed. That doublet might make too many layers for manual labor, bard."

Jaskier pulled a face. "I only look flushed because I'm so pale!' he said lightly. "I spend most of my time in taverns or courts or forests! We can't all be umber goddesses like Tea and Vea!"

Borch rolled his eyes upward and turned back to the pile of firewood he was adjusting. "Go on now," he grumbled.

Jaskier went out to where they had set up for camp. Vea was there, methodically plucking the birds. Jaskier sat down on a rock near the firepit, wiped off the sweat dripping down his face, and pulled the small dagger out of his boot. Geralt had given him this dagger when it became clear that Jaskier was going to continue to trail him, and continue to get in trouble. Jaskier huffed softly at the memory, then set to work on the rabbits.

They worked in silence for a short time, then Vea turned to him. "You are not humming or singing," she observed.

"Ah, yes," Jaskier said with a grimace. "I'm working on being a bit quieter. Don't need all the monsters to know where to ambush me when I'm on the Path by myself now."

Vea grunted. "You can make noise while you're here with us," she said after a moment. "It makes it feel more like home."

"Oh, is there a lot of music in Zerrikania?" Jaskier asked with interest. "I had heard it was a very martial life, so much so that women cut off the breast near their shooting arm to keep it from interfering with their aim! Someone told me it was a myth, and the warriors I've met have not been altered thusly, but no one has ever mentioned to me Zerrikanian music!"

Vea snorted loudly. "We do not cut off our breasts. That's foolish talk by men who are scared of our strong people." She rolled her eyes hard. "People are always the same, making up gruesome tales to make strong women seem monstrous." Her voice softened, a little. "Some families, more than others, are musical. My father knew a great many songs and he would play the djembe, a ... hand drum, sometimes in the evening, once he had finished cooking our evening meal." Her eyes seemed to turn inward. "His songs were passed down from his father, and his father before that."

Jaskier fairly bounced in excitement on the rock. "Could you teach some to me? I would dearly love to be the first bard on this part of the continent that could sing traditional Zerrikanian songs. I don't have a hand drum but I could figure something out for rhythm!"

Vea looked at Jaskier thoughtfully, continuing to prepare the bird as she talked. "I don't know more than a few of them," she admitted. "I didn't listen to my father as I should have, as my brothers did. But I could share with you one day the ones I do remember."

“That would be amazing!” Jaskier enthused. Silence fell for a few moments, then Jaskier started humming quietly.

[more workshopping her sweet kiss]

Music was an excellent way to keep one’s mind occupied during an unpleasant task, Jaskier had found. Between the rabbits and the knowledge that Vea would never actually pass on her Zerrikanian heritage music -- since he had to leave before he was thrown away summarily, one more time -- there were unpleasant things afoot. But the company was good, and the sun was warm. And he always had music.

It took slightly longer than Jaskier had expected to prepare the meal, and Borch and Tea came out of the cave, slightly dirty but triumphant. They hauled all the bedrolls into the cave to set up the new sleeping area, then cleaned up a little, rinsed their hands and wiped their faces. Borch chugged some water and the red patches on his tanned leathery cheeks faded a little, but didn’t disappear. He walked over to the fire, looking intent on poking it or helping or something. Jaskier frowned at him over the spit and pointed at a rock. “Go! Sit!” he scolded.

Borch put his hands up in surrender and sat as directed, meeting Tea’s eyes in amusement. “You should probably sit too,” he suggested, and Tea looked at him flatly.

“I am a warrior,” she said testily. “I could clean out one hundred caves and not need a rest.”

Jaskier snorted.

Tea switched her glare to him. “Are you laughing at me, bard?”

Jaskier shook his head, a smile lighting the corner of his lips. “Not at all, you are indeed a fierce warrior. But the fiercest of warriors know to take advantage of the respite and rest while the resting is good. You don’t know what the morrow brings, after all!”

“Mmm,” she hummed, and after refilling her water flask, she took a swig and sat down, obviously of her own volition, since she’d made her point.

Vea grabbed dishware out of her pack and started heaping meat onto the plates for each of them, and passed them out. Borch groaned. “It’s not that I don’t love bird and rabbit, understand, it’s just that I don’t want to die of scurvy! Would it kill you to add fruits or vegetables with Vitamin C to our meals once in a while?” he complained.

Tea and Vea ignored him in favor of their plates, and he sighed loudly. Not as loud as Jaskier would sigh, not _performatively_ , but Jaskier decided to give him a break.

“I’m not familiar with the veeta-mind seas, but I did see some berry bushes and some wild onions whilst I was retrieving the water yesterday,” Jaskier offered. “I was planning on stopping on my way down the mountain tomorrow or the next day and gathering some, I could show one of you if you’d like?”

Borch slapped his knee, delighted. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed. “Someone who keeps their eyes open for things other than just basic survival, but also the finer things!”

Jaskier considered berries basic survival, given his somewhat meager record of hunting and killing small game, but decided to take the compliment as it was meant. “I do look for the beauty in things first,” he boasted with a grin. “In fact,” and at this he put his plate, half finished, to the side and jumped to his feet, “I could sing a song or two about beauty tonight, since you regaled me with your fine stories last night -- don’t think I won’t turn them into song one day,” Jaskier said, pointing at Borch admonishingly.

Vea arched a perfect thin eyebrow at him as he ran over to get his lute. “Are you going to play us the tune you’ve been working on since we met?” She hummed a short musical phrase.

[some piece of Her Sweet Kiss, obvs]

He flapped a hand at her dismissively. “Oh that old thing? It’s not ready yet,” he said, as he quickly strummed the lute and tuned it. “But this chestnut is ready for you!” Jaskier started into a quick jig about a lovely lass named Tessa. At the end he bowed with a flourish. “Quick intermission!” he said breathlessly with a laugh. “I’m still hungry and it looks like Borch for all his complaints about meat might steal my plate!”

And they sang and made merry until Jaskier forgot about his troubles, and went to sleep in the cave near the others, exhausted and happy.

  
  
  


Being in closer, closed quarters than the last few nights, Jaskier heard the others get up, and decided to get a move on himself. He wasn’t sure what was in store for today, but he was fairly certain it might involve a funeral, and he definitely needed cleaner, slightly more somber clothes for that.

He went out to where the coals were still sizzling from the night before, and spoke quietly with Tea. She confirmed what he had already expected, though their ceremony would be late in the day, at sunset. 

“I plan on running back down to the stream, shall I bring back some water? And perhaps berries?” Jaskier said.

Borch came down the trail in time to hear Jaskier’s offer. “If you don’t mind the company of an old man, I would come with you. Get some water, eat some berries fresh off the bush, see what we can find for wild vegetables in the woods.”

Jaskier nodded. “That’s fine with me! Tea, can you keep an eye on my lute for me? She’s very precious, I would be distraught if something happened to her,” he said, batting his eyelashes at Tea.

She waved him off. “If someone gets to your lute, they’re near the egg. I think we both know what I’m protecting first.”

“Music is important, I’m glad you’re acknowledging it’s rightful supremacy in the priority list,” Jaskier teased. Tea huffed and turned away, but Jaskier was sure she was smiling. “I’m going to grab my pack minus the lute, and do a tad bit of washing up while I’m down there. I’ve been wearing this doublet for ages, it feels like,” he said with a frown. He sniffed the coat and made a face. “Yes, your point has been made, Tea. As you so quaintly put it, I stink.”

Borch chuckled, grabbed the big water pot, and they left for the stream.

Jaskier chattered aimlessly, about the weather and Oxenfurt. Borch chimed in every once in a while, offering keen observations about the wind patterns in the sky. “So you’re saying they have currents like the water does?” Jaskier said questioningly. “I mean, even on a day that’s calm with no wind?”

Borch nodded. “When you get way up there, there’s lots of drafts to help you get where you need to go -- if you have the wings for it, of course,” he said with a grin.

“Oh it must be fantastic, to travel by air,” Jaskier replied wistfully, looking up at the blue sky. Then, because of course he did, he tripped over a tree root. He squawked and kicked his foot free, barely managing to stay upright. Borch held his laughter in. Jaskier continued on as if nothing happened, except for the bright red coloring the back of his neck and cheeks. “Walking is fine, I guess, you see a lot of places and people you wouldn’t see in a carriage or in one small town forever. Horses are better, if you can get one or borrow one to ride, the vantage point is great. But I wish when I was leaving here I could just fly down the mountain. Though I am not sure yet where the wind will take me.”

Borch paused and put his hand on Jaskier’s arm. “You keep mentioning leaving. You’re welcome to stay with us, see the baby born. Your companionship and assistance is greatly appreciated.”

Jaskier’s blue eyes widened, then brightened. “I would love to! I know so many lullabies, and I could write so many epics about the baby and about you, and Tea and Vea of course, and Vea will have time to teach me some Zerrikanian music!” He began skipping through the forest. So much energy, so exciting! He started listing in his head the lullabies that would be more appropriate to calm a dragonling to sleep, and then stopped abruptly as he spotted a familiar tree. “Borch! I walked past the berries!”

Borch smiled and followed as Jaskier backtracked until he came across a copse of berry bushes, laden heavily with deeply red fresh berries. Jaskier grinned and gestured grandly. “My good sir, your fruits,” he announced in a snooty voice, nose raised high in the air.

“Excellent,” Borch said. He picked a few off the bush and popped them in his mouth, then wiped his fingers on his pants. “Let’s grab some on the way back so that they don’t get crushed while we’re cleaning in the stream.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jaskier said cheerily. A plan! He had a plan for tomorrow! And company to spend his time with! Then a thought struck him, and he slumped his shoulders over a little.

“Why do you look like someone kicked you?” Borch asked after he swallowed another handful of the tart, juicy berries.

“Do you think it’s going to be okay with Tea and Vea if I stay?” Jaskier asked hesitantly. “It’s just, I don’t want to be a bother, and I know you’ve been traveling together for some time now, if your stories are any way to judge.”

Borch rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Of course it’s okay with Tea and Vea.” He held up a hand to Jaskier, to forestall any interruptions. “Just the same, I’ll speak to them privately tonight and ask them, to make sure. But I know Vea has appreciated your help around mealtimes, and Tea enjoys your music and thinks you are funny!”

She does? Jaskier thought in confusion. She barely ever laughs!

Borch must have been able to read his thoughts (were dragons able to read thoughts? Jaskier decided that was horrifying, and resolved to dismiss the idea immediately) because he said, “Tea doesn’t laugh much, but I can see the amusement in her eyes. They crinkle just-so when she wants to laugh.”

They began picking their way through the forest and the underbrush again. It was a fine day, and Jaskier fell silent and enjoyed the sounds of the forest for once, following the noise of the water splashing to the stream. Borch quietly identified various plants as they walked together, remarking on which he’d want to stock up on for cooking and which would be good for his medicine kit. Jaskier allowed himself to be cautiously excited, and decided that he would be so helpful that his new friends would not have any cause to want him to leave.

[whistling of her sweet kiss]

After the quick (freezing!) dip in the stream, and a quick washing of his doublet (he’d quite forgotten it was _that_ red), Jaskier and Borch made their way back to the summit cave, stopping to gather fresh herbs and berries and other vegetables that Borch noticed. As they neared the top, the mood changed over from simple joy of friendship to more somber. The sun was getting real low. But the boys were just waking up.

They left the water and various plant matters near the firepit, and silently went separate directions; Jaskier to change into his cleaner clothes, and Borch to prepare for the funeral rites. Tea and Vea had done the hunting early in the day, to make sure that everyone was ready for the ceremony.

When the sun first brushed the horizon, and the sky started its transition, Borch returned. At least, Jaskier hoped it was Borch, he hadn’t seen Borch as a dragon yet. He was flying, and he was magnificent, sleek and long and glittering gold with the lowering light. He glided around in a lazy circle above the cave, slowly getting lower until suddenly he let out a loud, fierce cry and folded his wings in, plummeting down towards them.

Jaskier was startled and began to move aside, but Tea grabbed his elbow; when he met her gaze, she shook her head. No. Jaskier took a deep breath and watched as Borch gracefully turned his dive into the cave. His loud cries echoed in the cave and into the sky, and he emerged, proud, holding aloft the mother of his child in his powerful forearms, the green of her scales slightly dulled, but still beautiful. He moved further down the rockface with her, until he was near the edge of the cliff. Then he gently placed her body on the ground and took two steps back.

There was a long moment of silence, where it seemed like all held their breath, then Borch bellowed his grief, pouring flame on Myrgtabrakke’s silent form. It took alight quickly, but Borch didn’t stop; he kept feeding flame after flame into the blaze. Jaskier could feel the heat starting to burn his eyes, but he wouldn’t disrespect them and look away from this.

As the sun finished it’s descent below the horizon and the moon rose, the flames died down, leaving behind only a glittering green stone the size of Jaskier’s fist sitting where Myrtle had been, and some ash fluttering over the edge of the steep drop.

Vea nudged Jaskier; she arched an eyebrow and nodded her head towards his bag. After a brief moment he understood, and hurried to his lute. He began playing a slow, mournful tune. He did not sing with it. The sound of Borch’s grief should not be disguised; he was merely playing an accompaniment.

The stars came out, and Borch sat at the edge of the mountain still, and Jaskier kept playing, one dirge after another, doing his best to comfort Borch the way he knew -- through music.

When the moon was higher in the sky, he noticed that Tea and Vea had left his side, where they had been standing as strong pillars of silence. One was a few feet behind Borch, speaking in low tones to him; the other was preparing an evening meal.

Jaskier stretched his fingers and winced -- that was a bit of time to play without warmup, but he didn’t regret it. He moved into a simpler song, still sad, but with hope for the future, for Myrtle's legacy left behind in the egg. He closed his eyes and thought about his legacy. If he died tomorrow, his songs might still be sung across the continent, but his name wouldn’t persist. Geralt’s, however, the White Wolf himself, well, his name would. Right now, if the only legacy was leaving behind was the memory of Geralt, that was kind of beautiful.

But Jaskier thought that maybe singing of a dragon and his child and their legacy might be a smidgen more to his taste.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Pod Together project. Hangebokhan and I found each other partway through and knew we were going to be a partnership for the AGES. Long term committed not!ficcing, writing, and podding partners, in multiple fandoms. While working on this project together (which is in fact a series and it will be mindblowing), we did a few not!fics (not yet posted), and started legitimately planning more projects together. Jaskier is in need of some friends, and some love, after Episode 6. We'll make sure he gets it.
> 
> Thanks to the amazing mod team at Pod Together, all the folks who encouraged/poked/sprinted with us, and all the readers / listeners. Thanks for your support, and I hope you enjoy what we have for you.
> 
> Hi, this is Han-chan. I am the person who has been torturing poor Elle-dubs. When all my motivation to do PT was killed, she showed up like a ray of sunshine in the murky shadows. I will admit, this being a series? That was all my fault. Ok, well, kind of both of us… but mostly mine. Elle is both a fantastic writer and reader. You should see the difference in our ambient noise levels. I should mention? The occasional metallic noises? Me. I fed my cats right before recording. Don’t do that, they eat loud. Enjoy and remember: Our narrator is unreliable as fuck.


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